184 ANGLING REMINISCENCES. 



tinising the channels for a November fish, with a 

 long, six-pronged leister in his hands. Latterly he 

 patronised the otter. He was wrong, but his hands 

 were perhaps feebler, his dispositions less active 

 than formerly, and he hesitated to wade, as of old, 

 along the margin of St Mary's Loch, when, without 

 this fatigue, he might continue the capture of some 

 scores of half-pounders and a kelt or two, lank, lean, 

 large-headed, and silvery. The Shepherd was a per- 

 severing, arid consequently a successful angler ; but 

 he never, in my humble judgment, threw a nice fly; 

 he was ignorant of the proper sweep necessary to 

 be taken before the line could be fairly projected, 

 and he had a strange affection for strong coarse gut, 

 and large heavy hooks, superfluously loaded with 

 feathers. A flail might have scanned the surface 

 with more delicacy than his untrained tackle! How 

 he managed to catch fish at all, was to me a marvel; 

 but they rose, not a doubt, to his fly, and found an 

 entrance also to his pannier. 



Methinks I once more behold him wending his 

 way back to Altrive Cottage, clad in a grayish shoot- 

 ing-jacket of light summer fabric, with his pastoral 

 plaid, forming a cross in front, and knotted on the 

 left side, so as not to interfere with the use and ex- 

 ercise of his rod-arm, over which waves one of Bail- 

 lie Grieve's best ties worsted certainly, but still 

 in spring, and able to control the efforts of as noble 

 fish as ever swam upward from Yarrow fues. Know 

 ye not the poet by his free, firm step? by the light 



